Spinning Blood and Gold
by halcy-o-neus
Summary: Sharrkan always tries to touch the star in the night sky, even if he knows he can never reach him.


"Oi, Masrur!"

He didn't even bother to fully turn to the swordsman making his way towards him enthusiastically; he only turned his shoulders to spot him from the corner of his eye.

Sharrkan, as he was known. He was a General to the King of the Seven Seas, a title he shared with Masrur and six others. He was by far the most exotic person of their circle -excluding anomalies like Drakon- in a way that was bright and rich. The entire group usually stood out when together, but Sharrkan always had a more extravagant flair to his presence. He was bathed in golden jewellery that ranged from his earrings to the chains that spun around his neck and went down his back to end with a solid gold drop trailing behind him.

There was a point that seeing those chains being used as a fashionable accessory made _anger_ simmer in the depths of Masrur's chest.

Over time, however, he had come to appreciate how he wore them. They complimented both his fair assets and his tanned skin. The vibrancy of his personality shone in his bright green eyes enough to prove it. Even more so now when he looked so excited.

Sharrkan seemed aware that he wouldn't get a verbal answer from the Fanalis and went right into the usual one-sided conversation.

"They told me you were at the training grounds earlier." He stopped in front of Masrur and placed his hands on his hips. "Why didn't you come over? I was looking for someone to spar with!" He patted his sword on his side, grinning impishly.

He hadn't missed a single beat.

* * *

From where he towered, Masrur looked rather bored. Not that it was unusual. It was kind of his default expression.

"I was only there to deliver a message."

"I'm sure his Highness would have been alright with you taking a couple of minutes for a break." At this Masrur raised a brow, as if pointedly asking, _Are you sure about that?_

His smile faltered a bit. He had a point. Sin was good-natured but not so much that he would allow leisure breaks outside of times off, not when the empire needed running. Ja'far wasn't so spent for nothing after all.

"Yeah, I get your point." He chuckled, rolling it off his back as smoothly as he could show it to be. "Still, I do need a partner to spar with, and you could take some time to brush up on your sword-wielding skills with someone other than the King." Sharrkan offered instead, not one to be easily deterred.

"Would there be a point?" Masrur asked instead, closing his eyes in exasperation. His hand went up to rub at his neck. The stress from the last use of his household vessel lingered in his muscles in the aftermath, from what Sharrkan knew. He was probably in a bit of a mood because of it too.

"I don't use my sword, so I have no reason to train with it." His rejection was curtly delivered and didn't beat around the bush.

It left him awed sometimes, just how he was.

Masrur got across a thousand thoughts with just a look and a couple of words. He had no need for meaningless banter: a serious and candid man as ever. And yet, it was that exact trait that made him such an allure. He supposed that what made Masrur so fascinating to him wasn't only his raw power and distant disposition, but the mystery of himself that he refused to allow anyone to see yet somehow remained a trustworthy man to everyone. Sinbad had once told him that Masrur was far too roughly moulded by his experiences that no amount of offered warmth or kindness would make him express himself in a way Sharrkan was more accustomed to 'back home'.

Even upon their first meeting, Masrur had only taken his extended hand and hadn't responded to the friendly smile and greeting. Over time, he had grown accustomed to it, but still continued to try and work his way into a place where Masrur could trust him. To see him how he saw Sinbad or Ja'far. At first it was his ego he wanted to satisfy. Now he identified his want to his honour and pride of being recognized by such a man.

But the effort put in managed to do very little, and ended with cold rejection each time. He almost seemed to avoid using his weapon at all, lest even once against him, despite his many demands. He could already feel his enthusiasm leave him as he began falling into a sulk.

He vaguely caught Masrur turning to leave and immediately pasted on a playful pout, jumping up a bit and hooking his arm around his neck to pull him down a little more to his height.

"Fine, jeez. You're so uptight!" He complained, his other shoulder raising in a surrendering shrug. "But if you keep going on like this, you're gon'na end up being a bother to talk to!"

He leaned just a bit closer, where the redhead had turned his blank stare to the swordsman. "So how 'bout it? Join me for drinks at my place? I'm bringing girls over tonight."

* * *

_**AN;**_ _First published... thing. After agonizing for two-to-three days on editing this to try and spot even the smallest flaw, I've yielded and just taken a shot. Review, please; I'd like to know where it's lacking and where it's not! (but please be nice about it )_  
_This might end up as a one-shot, but I do have a continuation being weaved in my mind. It's just debatable whether I'll continue or not. If I do, then it'll be a pretty long fic._


End file.
